


Crooked Path

by KungfuChicken



Series: A quiet life [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KungfuChicken/pseuds/KungfuChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne of Tarth already noticed that the path of the faith is a crooked one and Sandor Clegane is about to find out. Working on deep personal issues is a longterm project and a pretty bumpy ride at times and especially at the beginning. Besides, I doubt that Sandor has a lot of experience with introspection and self-awarness. I imagine his first reaction to such a suggestion would be to defiantly put up a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Path

He couldn’t bring himself to call his horse Driftwood. To him Stranger would always remain Stranger. His horse was no different because he had been given another name. He was still ill-tempered, prone to kick and bite, uncontrollable for anyone but himself.  
When a sourly looking Elder Brother had turned up beside his sickbed and told him his horse had broken some shins when the brothers had sneaked up on him with the gelding knife, he couldn’t help himself. Well, bloody good for Stranger! He had laughed out loud. When an even more disgruntled Elder Brother had asked what was so funny, he had said that he found their efforts to turn his warhorse into an ox hilarious. And then he had added in his best intimidating growl that they should make no further plans to geld his stallion.  
The Elder Brother had only looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if to goad him to do something more than just growl. Unfortunately he still was in no physical state to let deeds follow the words. And this fellow here didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all. With an inward sigh he acknowledged that things weren’t what they used to be.  
He had promised to look after Stranger himself afterwards. He was grateful for something to do. Lying in bed, recovering and having too much time to think did not agree with him. To think about all the things that had gone wrong, all the things he had done wrong was more torture than this rotten wound on his leg had ever been.  
Reluctantly he had to admit he was grateful that the monks had taken him in. But surely their hospitality came with a prize? Soon enough it became clear that Elder Brother wanted nothing less than to make him a new man. Apparently the Hound was buried on the banks of the Trident and supposed to stay there forever . But Elder Brother had also said that Sandor Clegane was at peace and welcome on the Quiet Isle. Now what was that supposed to mean? Weren't they the same man? Where did the Hound end and where did Sandor Clegane begin? Could the two even be distinguished from another? What was one without the other? Where and how in the Seven Hells should he begin to transform himself into this new and improved version of himself?  
He could not find an single answer to these questions. But it seemed that Elder Brother thought he would in due time. From where the man had this absurd notion he could not tell. As if a man’s or a beast’s nature could be changed! Stranger remained Stranger, it took more than a new name to change that. And himself, he remained the Hound even though Elder Brother constantly prattled something of the Hound having died on the banks of the Trident. Well, thanks to the meddling of the buggering bastard he still felt very much alive!  
And he was stuck in this strange place where no one was allowed to talk, where there was no entertainment other than labor, buggering prayers and singing! He was dead to the world or so Elder Brother told him. He had also told him that he was welcome to spend the rest of his days here on the Quiet Isle in peace and silence, laboring for the Seven, repenting his worldly sins and praying himself senseless.  
Bugger that, with these prospects he might as well be dead for real! Not for the first time he wished the Elder Brother had just left him bloody well alone with his care and concern and well meant help. He had not helped at all. If Elder Brother had truly wanted to help him, he just would have let him die then and there under this bloody tree in the blasted dripping Riverlands! He was still here, still angry at himself, still angry at the world. Still eaten up with yearning for more than life had given him.


End file.
